Unravel Me
by 1848EllisBell
Summary: Written for the Winter Hiatus '13 Kink Meme. Prompt: Pre-series. A teenage Beckett sneaks out to go to a party, where she loses her virginity to Castle. They don't meet again until the beginning of episode 1. Rated M.
1. Chapter 1

**Part One: I'm wound up small and tight, and I don't know who I am.**

* * *

><p><strong> <em> 1997 <em> **

_I hate you._

_I wish you were dead._

Those were the last words Kate huffed fiercely at her mother before ascending the stairs two at a time, her bedroom door closing with a resounding slam.

Lawyers. Fucking lawyers. She could talk her way into and out of anything - except when it came to her parents. Her father refused to allow her to purchase the Softail she'd been saving for for damn near three years (she'd spent the entirety of the past summer modeling, and she'd be damned if it was all for naught). Her mother refused to allow her to attend a college party on a school night (_Or any night, Katie_, her mom had clarified. _Until you're actually in college_).

She was on the cusp of something significant, she could feel it in her bones. There was an undeniable need within her, a pull she couldn't ignore, and she had to be at that party. Not just because Maddie had practically forced her into agreeing to go, and not just because it was the eve of her eighteenth birthday, and this was as close to a celebration as she was going to get this year (_Your grades are good, but your attitude is not_. _Rules are there for your own good_. And then such sentences had stopped being fired at her by frustrated teachers and made their way to her parents instead, and the weight of all that disappointment had almost suffocated her). She was seventeen now, so close to eighteen it was almost tangible, and yet she'd never felt more like a child in all her life. This was her final year of high school, and she was at breaking point. With her friends, with her family, with everything. She was growing wary of pushing boundaries to be in control.

This party, it wasn't even one she was looking forward to. It was little more than Maddie trying to outdo last year's by taking Kate to a college party, where they knew no one, and were likely to be kicked out after five minutes. But she wasn't _allowed_ to go, and that only made her more determined.

She remained in her room; she refused to come down for dinner, refused the tray she heard being placed outside her door, refused to listen to or even acknowledge her father when he entered her room telling her it was for her own good and she would understand one day - and that in the meantime she should apologize to her mother.

"You're too stubborn for your own good, Katie," he had muttered as he had exited her room.

"Got that from you, Dad," were the only words she uttered, once he was out of earshot.

She stayed hidden away, listening. She heard her mom's voice as the woman passed by her bedroom door, the words, "_I love you no matter what, Katie_," spoken just loud enough for her to hear. She heard the bathroom door's hinges squeak near ten PM, heard her parents' bedroom door close not long after. And then she waited, another thirty minutes, the time spent applying makeup, fixing her hair, changing into more appropriate clothes. She eased her phone out of the cradle, and dialed Maddie's number. Her friend answered on the first ring. "Meet me out front, five minutes," Kate whispered down the line.

And then she was padding down the stairs, shoes dangling off her fingers, careful to avoid the noisy floorboard that had caught her out in the past. With a practiced touch, and a held breath, she unlocked the front door, and then closed it behind her - with little more than a soft _click_.

* * *

><p>"You made it," Maddie greeted her as she exited the brownstone she lived in with her parents.<p>

"Only just," Kate replied, slipping her heels on before descending the steps and meeting her friend on the sidewalk. The cold night air hit her exposed skin; she shivered, folded her arms across her chest, and ran her fingers down her bare forearms to ward off the chill, regretting her lack of a coat.

"Getting the Harley?" Maddie asked, standing on the curb, hand raised, her eyes focused on the street as she attempted to hail a cab.

Kate brushed a strand of loose hair back behind her ears, tucking it securely in place, and joined Maddie at the edge of the sidewalk. "Not if my father has his way."

Maddie turned and eyed her with interest. "Which means yes."

"I look forward to him trying to stop me," she bit out.

"That's my Becks. Never met a rule you couldn't break, huh," Maddie observed as a cab pulled up.

"This party better be worth it," Kate told her as they slipped into the back. "You mightn't see me again for a while after tonight." Her eyes flicked up to her parents' bedroom window, and the darkness that met her eased the anxiety. She had made it this far, she was fine.

"Like being grounded has ever stopped you."

"I might have pushed my luck this time."

Maddie huffed out a laugh as the cab took them to their destination. "We'll get you back before dawn and they'll be none the wiser."

Kate ran a hand through her hair, curled and pulled back into a pony-tail; she touched up her lip gloss, and then expelled a soft sigh. The best-laid plans, she silently reminded herself, gazing out the window as the city passed by in a blur.

"I thought you said you were over him?"

The bitterness in Maddie's voice drew her back, and she turned to her friend. "What?"

"Brent. You said you were over him,." The darkness in her voice lingered.

"I am," Kate replied. "Why?"

"You seemed pretty interested in his brownstone just then."

Rolling her eyes, Kate replied, "Habit, Maddie. It's just habit. He's not interested in me, I get it. I've moved on, okay?"

"Then you probably won't care that he'll be there tonight."

"What?" Kate hissed. "He's going to be at the party? Why?"

Maddie shrugged, disinterested. "His brother's throwing the party. I heard about it through Brent."

Kate folded her arms and huffed out a breath. "So now it all makes sense, why you were so determined to be there tonight."

"Because it's your birthday," Maddie replied, digging around in her purse for her gloss, refusing to meet Kate's eyes.

Shifting her gaze back out the foggy window of the cab, Kate felt the sadness begin to take hold. Happy birthday to me, she thought bitterly.

* * *

><p>"I thought you said this was a college party," Kate hissed as they entered the Frat House, the revelry well and truly in full swing.<p>

"It is," Maddie hissed back.

Kate surveyed the crowd as they pushed through it. These weren't eighteen and nineteen year old like she had been expecting. These were people in their early to mid twenties, and suddenly she felt like a child - again - surrounded by adults and out of her depth.

"It's okay," Maddie reassured her. "You look old enough. Trust me."

She wasn't though, and in that moment she certainly didn't feel it. "If they figure out we're seventeen," she whispered to Maddie as they made their way to the keg, "they'll have us arrested."

"Oh my God, Becks, stop it. Yes, they probably will, if they overhear you. It's going to be fine." Maddie waved a dismissive hand, and then took hold of Kate's.

Kate allowed herself to be led through the drunken revelers, through to a space that had been fashioned into a make-shift bar for the night. She allowed an arrogant - but damn attractive - guy to hand her a drink he had just poured from the keg.

With an exaggerated smile plastered on her overly made-up face, Maddie raised her cup. "Happy birthday, College Girl," she exclaimed, too loud, drawing too much attention.

Kate knocked her plastic cup against Maddie's and forced a smile. "I still have an hour until it's my birthday," she said, leaning in to Maddie so she didn't have to yell, "but I'm fairly certain I'm going to spend it either locked up or dead." As she shifted her gaze she noticed the guy beside the keg leering at them and she straightened up, putting a little distance between her and Maddie, rolling her eyes as she did so.

Maddie just laughed - whether at her words or the guy already picturing them both in his bed she didn't know - before throwing back her drink. Kate followed suit, swallowing down a mouthful of the cheap beer with forced enthusiasm. It had all seemed like such a good idea a few hours ago, now all she could think of was her mom, unable to sleep, knocking on her bedroom door to talk, finding her bed empty. The dread of her inevitable punishment couldn't be suppressed, and with each sip of her beer the less it felt right. And the less she trusted Maddie's reasons for being here.

Maybe she really was getting older; she was growing weary of testing boundaries and breaking rules, and growing wary of this person beside her. Maybe she wanted to get caught, thrown in lock-up for a night, grounded for the rest of the year. Maybe she just wanted her parents to shift some of their attention away from work and notice who she had become.

She just needed one person to see her, and maybe that would reign her in.

But it certainly wasn't the guy at the keg, still undressing her with his eyes.

* * *

><p>Maddie had ditched her, at eleven forty-five, had walked off with a cup of beer in one hand, her other hand resting on her hip. Her eyes had been fixed on a group of guys as she'd murmured a promise to find Kate again once the clock struck twelve.<p>

_To pass the time, I know you're not interested in Brent, but how about his brother?_

Those were the final words Maddie had uttered before giving her back a gentle shove and propelling her feet towards a taller, older, more muscular version of Brent Edwards. _Brad_, a voice in the back of her mind whispered. _His name's Brad_.

She wished she cared, but the idea of a Grad student having any interest in her was even more remote than her gaining Brent's interest - and she'd been trying for damn near three years now. She turned on her heel, away from Brad's appealing frame, and glared daggers at the back of Maddie's blonde head.

She couldn't have just stuck with her for those last fifteen minutes? Kate sighed. It was amazing how little more than one cup of beer could turn her friend into a deserter.

And then she saw what Maddie had seen. The group of guys shifted and there was Brent, in the middle, smiling as Maddie handed him a beer.

Smiling as Maddie's lips covered his, her palms resting on his chest.

Smiling as he slipped his hand beneath her shirt and pulled her closer.

* * *

><p>Kate retreated, away from Maddie and Brent, away from Brad, away from the leering guy and his keg of beer. She found a space, and watched. She stood on the periphery of the party, back against the wall, sipping her beer like she belonged when the reality was painfully different. She felt curious eyes on her, exhaled a frustrated breath as a drunken student stumbled her way, and then she'd had enough. Taking her beer with her, Kate slipped out the door and stopped at the top of the stone steps. She glanced up and down the street, tempted to just hail a cab and go home. But two houses down, opposite the back of the library building, she spied a darkened house. She made her way to it, heels clacking on the dirty sidewalk, wishing she had brought a coat as the cool November air chilled her bones.<p>

She swallowed the last of the beer, placed the empty cup on a stone step, and sat down, outside this strange house, taking a moment to figure it all out. Go home, and face the inevitable punishment, or go back inside, and pretend to have a good time. She pulled her knees up and wrapped her arms around herself. The thumping bass of the music was just a slight annoyance now, and no longer reverberated through her body, but the street was loud, busy, and a drunken group of students stumbled past her, slurring the lyrics to Everclear's_ I will buy you a new life_. The noise frustrated her, reminded her of how quiet her bedroom would be right now - and the guilt returned. It built up within her, angry and loud, fueled by the words that had left her mouth, the deceptive way in which she had gone against her parents. This wasn't her, not high school student Kate Beckett, no, she swallowed down guilt and stubbornly pushed on. But maybe this was college student Kate Beckett, the person she would be this time next year? Maybe this was the start. Maybe she'd figure it out while following in her parents' footsteps, fearless and strong. In five minutes she would be eighteen - maybe she'd figure it out in a blinding flash as the clock struck twelve.

Maybe she would never figure it out.

She could pretend Maddie hadn't ditched her for the boy both had spent more than two years admiring from a distance. She could pretend she hadn't disobeyed her parents and wasn't in for the grounding of a lifetime when she was caught sneaking back in. She could close her eyes and just pretend that this wasn't about to be the worst birthday of her life.

"You okay?"

Kate lifted her chin and looked up to meet vaguely familiar blue eyes. "Fine," she replied, her tone clipped, her eyes hard. "Just peachy."

The guy before her nodded, his eyes surveying her. "Okay," he replied. "Not buying that."

Kate huffed out a laugh and pulled her knees tighter against her chest. "You don't have to."

"May I sit?" he asked.

Kate narrowed her eyes, and then glanced back towards the empty, darkened, house. Still alone, just her and this strangely familiar guy. She'd seen his face before. Somewhere. On TV? _America's Most Wanted_? Maybe she hadn't been so far off about not living to see her birthday.

"You don't trust me," the man surmised.

"I don't know you," Kate reminded him. "But I can't stop you from sitting if you want to."

"I appreciate that," he replied. He sat, and then extended a hand. "I'm Rick."

Kate clamped her lips closed, but held his eyes.

"But names aren't important," he replied, pulling his hand back and clasping them in his lap. "So what brings you out here, shouldn't you be inside one of these houses, partying, and you know?"

"You know?" she asked.

He waved a dismissive hand. "But that's clearly not your scene."

"You think you know me already?"

"I-" he stuttered. "No, just, you're out here alone, clearly upset. You might not want company but I feel like you need someone to sit with you."

"I don't," she replied.

"You wanna talk about it?"

"Nope," she replied, popping the 'p'.

"You sure?"

Kate glanced at her watch and then released a long sigh. "It's my birthday," she began, "and my best friend ditched me."

"Happy birthday?"

"Thanks," she replied, and then released a rueful chuckle. "This is not how I envisioned this evening would go."

"How did you envision it?"

"Drunk, happy, free."

"You don't seem to be any of those."

"How observant," she told him dryly.

"Twenty-one?" he asked.

Kate blinked, confused. "I'm sorry?"

"Your age," he clarified. "Twenty-one?"

"Oh, yes. I'm twenty-one," she replied, the lie flowing easily off her tongue.

"It's a good age," Rick told her.

"So I've been told."

He extended a hand again, and smiled. "I'm Rick."

"I know," she replied. "You've said that already." At his raised eyebrow, she relented, and placed her hand in his. "I'm Kate."

Rick shook her hand, and grinned. "Happy birthday, Kate."

She smiled at his soft, genuine tone. "Thank you." She pulled her hand back and resumed hugging her knees. "So what brings you to this party, Rick?"

"Free beer," he answered.

"Really?" she asked, her tone making it clear she didn't believe it for a second. "You're not dressed like a college student," she told him. "You're not dressed like someone who needs free beer."

"Tonight I do," he told her.

"Oh?"

He surveyed her for a moment, and then shrugged. "I finalized my divorce tonight," he told her, his voice subdued. "I was driving by, saw this party, couldn't resist crashing it. Looked like a good place to get lost for a few hours."

Kate blinked in surprise at his words. "You just got divorced?"

"Yeah," he replied, before letting out a mirthless chuckle. "Can't quite believe it myself." He shook his head, and sighed. "My wife, ah, _ex_-wife, wasn't quite as faithful as I'd been led to believe."

"Oh, Hell. I'm sorry, Rick."

"Yeah, me too," he said, a bitter edge to his voice. Shaking himself out of it, he nudged her knee with his. "I need another drink, how about you?"

"Please," she replied.

"Don't go anywhere, Kate."

"I won't," she promised. "Oh, and if you see a blonde girl named Maddie in there who's looking for her friend Kate, tell her Kate went home."

Rick lifted an eyebrow, and then nodded. "Will do."

* * *

><p>Kate felt herself relax as Rick teased her. Three beers downed and his easy way of weaving a story had left her feeling almost comfortable in his company. She was hiding a smile behind the tips of three fingers when a flash of blonde hair rushed past her, a familiar voice cussing under her breath.<p>

"Whoa, Maddie," Kate called out to get her friend's attention, standing as she did so. "You okay?"

Maddie stopped and turned, her face red, wild blonde hair coming to rest on her shoulders. Her hands were clenched into tight fists, but even still Kate could see a slight waver in them. "Brent is all yours," Maddie huffed, before she turned and threw her hand out to hail a cab.

"Wait, where are you going?" Kate descended the steps and stopped behind Maddie.

Maddie didn't turn. "Home." A cab pulled up; she swung the door open, and then pulled it closed behind her, refusing to meet Kate's eyes.

"I'm fine, by the way. Don't need a ride home. Thanks for asking," she told the tail lights of the yellow cab.

She sighed in frustration and folded her arms across her chest. She was turning back to a bewildered Rick when Brent appeared on the sidewalk, face and hair dripping wet, a dark stain spreading down the front of his shirt.

"Where's Maddie?" he asked, striding over to Kate and reeking of beer.

"She went home," Kate told him in a steady voice.

"Good," he growled. "Your friend is a bitch, Kate."

She wanted to say, _I know, _and at the same time wanted to tear him apart for calling her that. Instead, she said, "What happened, Brent?"

"We were talking, having a good time. Then I made _one_ comment, and suddenly she's throwing her cup of beer in my face and storming off." He gestured to the front of his shirt, his own hands shaking in anger as he did so.

"What did you say to her?" Kate demanded.

"I was only offering her what she wanted."

Kate sighed. "Go back to the party, Brent. She's gone."

"Slut," he muttered, turning away from Kate.

Kate reached for his shoulder and tugged him back. "Hey," she growled, dropping her hand and pointing a finger at him. "You don't get to call her that. What happened, Brent? She turn you down?" Anger filled her voice.

"Don't touch me," Brent warned.

"Why? You gonna hit a girl, Brent? Is that what you do? Did you touch Maddie?"

"Not like you're suggesting," he told her. "She was the one who was about to punch me."

Rick had descended the steps and was standing a few steps away, watching closely, ready to take the guy down if necessary. She saw him and held up a hand. "I've got this, Rick." She turned back to Brent, and said, "Go home, Brent. You're drunk."

"Don't tell me what to do."

Kate rolled her eyes, and turned to Rick, "I'll be right back," she told him.

Rick looked the boy up and down as she walked off. She glanced back as he was standing before Brent, and the last words she heard were, "How old are you, Brent?"_ Don't blow this for me, Brent_, she silently pleaded. _Lie your ass off_.

She found Brad quickly, and led him to his younger brother. Kate stood beside Rick as the boy was hauled off by the larger man, who was clearly unimpressed by the behavior.

"Kids," Rick muttered.

"Yeah," Kate replied on an exhaled breath.

"He old enough to be drinking?"

"Nope," Kate replied. "But Brad'll sort him out."

"Good," Rick replied. "Maddie usually like that?" he asked as they returned to their spot on the steps.

"Yup," she told him, sadness consuming her. "Not the first time she's thrown a drink in someone's face. Brent should be thankful, last time she did it she threw the entire bottle, not just the contents."

"Plastic?"

"Nope."

"Ouch."

"Sam needed eight stitches that night." Kate sighed, "I thought she'd learned her lesson, I really did. I wonder if she ever will."

"At least she didn't throw the cup this time?"

Kate snorted. "I guess it's an improvement."

"I hate to say it, Kate, but she doesn't seem like a very good friend. Just from what I've heard and witnessed tonight."

"No," Kate agreed. "She really isn't." Glancing at her watch, she tried not to let her darkening mood show. Twelve fifty-eight AM. She was officially eighteen.

* * *

><p>One-thirty AM, and it was hitting her that the guy she had once adored had turned out to be an ass, and that her own ass was frozen to the step. Possibly. She shifted slightly, to check, and was relieved to find she could move freely. Okay, so not quite frozen yet. But Brent was still an ass. Hole. Jerk. <em>Fucking loser<em>.

In some random moment of chivalry, a half hour prior, the suave, smooth - possibly also an ass, she hadn't decided yet - man beside her had slung his coat around her shoulders, and had adjusted it with large, warm palms until it sat just right. He had then slid his fingers down her back, his touch burning her through the coat, through her own shirt, to her steadily warming skin.

He had listened. She had told him to stay back, to let her handle it - and he _had_. He'd watched the entire mess go down like a hawk, but ultimately he'd allowed her the control. Like he trusted her? She'd never met anyone like him before.

He sat at her side now, still trailing his fingertips up and down her back, eliciting small shivers from her she hoped went unnoticed. She wanted to lean in, just a little more, take that strikingly familiar face in her hands, feel the roughness of his stubble beneath her fingers, and thrust her tongue into his mouth.

"Twenty?" he asked.

She almost choked on her beer as she swallowed, tearing her gaze from his lips. "What?"

He smirked but said nothing about where her eyes had been focused, and replied instead with, "The way you responded to the question earlier leads me to believe this is not your twenty-first birthday."

"You caught me," she replied, her voice low. "I lied about my age."

"Well twenty or twenty-one, it's your birthday. I won't tell if you don't."

"Cross my heart," she replied solemnly. She sipped the beer, watching him out of the corner of her eye. "This what you had in mind tonight? Helping some pathetic not-quite-twenty-one-year-old, get over the fact she was ditched by her friend_ twice_ in one night?"

"I suspect that's not all that's bothering you."

"No," she agreed. She tilted her head, and watched him for a moment, before relenting. "I may have said some pretty awful things to my parents tonight," she admitted. "Feeling a bit sorry about it."

He nodded and then raised his eyebrows. "Which makes me grateful my daughter's vocab is still somewhat limited."

Kate gaped at him. "You have a daughter?" she asked in surprise.

Rick smiled. "She's three," he told her, pride filling his voice. "My mother is babysitting tonight. I needed a- a night off."

"You got custody," she surmised.

"It was all I wanted out of the divorce. Meredith could have everything else, I didn't care. But my daughter, she was non-negotiable."

"What's her name?" Kate asked.

Rick fumbled in his pocket for his wallet, and then tugged it out. He opened it to reveal a small photo of a red-headed baby girl. "Meet Alexis," he told her.

Kate smiled at the photo. "She's beautiful."

Rick nodded. "She's perfect," he said, his voice a soft sigh of joy. He gazed at the photo of his daughter a little longer, and then slid his wallet back in his pocket. "And no," he replied, "this isn't what I had in mind for tonight, but it's better."

Kate ducked her head shyly. "I doubt that." The alcohol was well and truly in her blood now, making her head fuzzy, loosening her lips. "But I do appreciate it, you sitting out here with me."

"Why are you still here?" he asked. "Why not go home?"

Kate snorted. "Giving my parents time to cool off."

"Ever considered the dorms?"

"Um," Kate fumbled. "Not really. I might for next semester, however."

"Yeah but you'll miss them," Rick told her. "I dread the day my baby is old enough to move out. I can't even fathom how I'll cope."

Kate smiled. "You were married, you have a kid, and you're divorced - how old are you, Rick?"

"Old enough already to have plenty of grey hairs by the time Alexis goes off to college."

"Which makes you?" she prompted.

"Twenty-seven."

She felt her chances with him fade. _What chances_? she wondered. He'd been nothing but nice to her, and she'd been wondering what he looked like naked. His fingers drew circles on her back and her stomach fluttered. She took a chance, and edged a little closer to him, stealing his warmth, breathing in his expensive cologne, testing their undefined boundaries. "What do you do, Rick?" she tilted her head, met his eyes, held them.

He seemed surprised for a moment, his hand stilling, but then he relaxed against her, his fingers pressing a little harder into her back, trailing up and down her spine. "When did this become about me?"

"When it turned out you needed the company more than I do."

Rick eyed her for a moment, and then cracked a smile. "I'm a writer."

"Oh?" Kate drew back a little, impressed. "Published?"

"Several times."

She smiled at him. "Any I might know?"

"_In a Hail of Bullets_? _A Rose for Everafter_?"

Kate shook her head as he rattled off more titles. "Sorry. What did you say your last name was?"

"I didn't," he said with a smile. "It's Castle."

Kate pursed her lips as she realized why the man's eyes, and his face, were familiar. "Maybe my mom has a few of your books," she said after a moment. "The name is familiar." But there was no _maybe_ about it, her mom definitely had a collection of Richard Castle's novels. She had walked through the living-room enough times, in the evenings, on her way up to bed, to find her mom curled up on the couch, the author's face taking up almost the entire back cover, and gazing out at her.

He shrugged. "Well if she does she has great taste in literature."

Kate smiled at that. "Yeah, she does actually. My mom's amazing. We hit a…" She sucked her lower lip into her mouth, worried it. "We had a stupid fight tonight. It's rare. I know I make it sound like I just want to move out of home and be on my own but… No. I love my mom, I really do." She paused, before adding, "My dad's pretty great too, I guess. We're both just a little bit too much like one another for our own good." Scrunching up the empty plastic cup in her hand, Kate chuckled under her breath. "I don't usually talk this much," she admitted. "I must be drunk."

"I think I am too." He crushed his own empty cup and placed it on the step.

His fingers danced across her back to her shoulder, and drew her into him. She went willingly, dropping her head against his shoulder, and releasing a soft sigh of contentment.

"You wanna get out of here, Kate?" he murmured.

"And go where?" she whispered.

He kept his tone low as he said, "It's your birthday, where would you like to go?"

"I don't have anything on me," she told him. "They won't let me in to any clubs." She pulled away from him, and stood abruptly, brushing some dirt off the back of her jeans. "Maybe I should just go home," she said, despondent.

Rick stood, and turned to her. "Can I at least give you a ride home?"

Kate stepped closer to him, and glanced up. With her heels in her hands she was barely taller than his shoulder. "Why should I trust you?" She already did, as stupid as it was. In her inebriated state, she trusted this writer, whose words helped her mom relax at the end of the day. She slipped her shoes back on, and gave him back his coat. She raised her eyebrows at him, still awaiting an answer as he draped the coat over his arm.

"Just… Follow me?" He slipped his hand into hers and she hesitantly followed as he led her down the street, away from Frat Row. Even with her shoes on she could run pretty fast, and her hand was just loose enough in his to break free should she need to. She'd grown up in the city, she couldn't switch that part of her brain off, the part that screamed _danger_ at every dark alley, at every strange man. But Richard Castle wasn't strange, just a little lost, like she currently was. She curled her fingers tighter around his, and lengthened her stride to walk at his side.

They were quiet for a moment, and then he stopped, gestured with a wave of a hand, and grinned at her. Her lips parted in surprise. "You've got to be kidding me," she murmured, as she and Rick stood before the longest car she'd ever seen.

"My driver will take us anywhere you need to go."

Kate tore her eyes off the Limo parked on the street, and turned to Rick with wide eyes. "Are you rich or something, Rick?"

"Little bit," he answered honestly.

He opened the door for her, and gave her a kind smile. "Let me take you home, Kate."

"This goes against all my common sense," she told him, her feet still planted on the sidewalk.

"I can call you a cab, if you prefer."

"I really should say yes to that."

"But you're not."

"I'm not," she grumbled. She slid into the back of the limo, and mentally chided herself - but she didn't get out.

Rick slid in next to her and sat down. He communicated with the driver, and turned to Kate. "Address?" he asked her.

"Uh."

He gave her an understanding smile. "Just give Charles a general idea of where he's going. We can drop you off a few doors down if you're that concerned."

_Charles? Jesus Christ_. Kate gave him the address of an apartment a few doors down from her own, and then sat back. But she kept her defenses up, kept herself alert, despite the fact she was struggling to keep from sinking against his side again. His strong, warm side. She wanted to tip her head back, meet those smiling lips with her own...

"You okay?" he asked, concerned.

Oh, she'd been staring at him - at his lips - again, and he had just caught her - again. And then she couldn't answer, at least not with words. Without over-thinking it, she leaned forward, and captured his lips. She had kissed boys before, but it had always been just a little messy. Noses had bumped, teeth had clashed, tongues had never swept as gracefully as she'd intended.

It wasn't like that now. He was older - so much older - so experienced. And he wasn't pushing her away (_Not like Brent had, not that she cared anymore_). Rick's mouth moved with hers, his lips brushing hers at first as they tentatively kissed, and then his mouth opened, his tongue probed at her lips, and she opened them to grant him access. She moaned at the intrusion of his firm, warm tongue sweeping expertly around her mouth, sliding against her own tongue, dancing together.

She pulled back, just a little breathless, and held his eyes. "Wow," she murmured. She barely paused to suck in a breath, before canting forward again and pressing up against him, her hands gripping at his shirt, her tongue demanding entrance into his mouth this time.

His hands framed her face, his fingers ghosted across her cheeks, and then swept down to her bare arms, exploring her, warming her. He pulled back, and murmured into her ear, "Still want to go home, Kate?"

She shook her head, barely able to form words. "No." She almost choked the word out. She swallowed. "No." Steady. Decisive.

He pulled away from her, and communicated with the driver again. He was soon back at her side, easing her against him again.

"Where are we going?" Kate asked softly, her lips a whisper of a breath from his.

"Hotel," he replied, almost breathing the word into her mouth. He pulled back just a little then, his eyes flicking between hers as he studied her. "That okay? I had already booked myself in for the night. Couldn't face going home."

Oh god, she was going to lose her virginity to some rich author in a random hotel. She chewed on her lower lip for a moment, and then nodded. That sounded pretty damn good to her, actually.

"It's your birthday, Kate," he reminded her. He slid his lips over hers again, before pulling back and saying, "As much happens tonight as you want it to."

"This hotel have beer?" she asked.

Rick nodded.

"Better than that party?"

"Not difficult, but yes."

"Take me there," she told him, before claiming his lips once more.

* * *

><p>Rick wrapped an arm around her slender frame as they stepped onto the sidewalk outside the hotel lobby. "You're freezing, Kate," he murmured against her hair. "Why don't you have a coat?"<p>

His breath ghosted across her temple, warming her skin. She huffed out a low laugh, but it sounded nervous and hesitant to her ears, so affected by his touch, his scent, by the heat she stole from his body. She swallowed down her arousal, and answered in an even tone,"I was in a hurry."

"Slow down next time," he said sagely, squeezing her hip.

She tilted her chin up and met his eyes. "Right now I'd like to speed things up a little."

He dipped his head and brushed his lips against hers, a feather-light taste of what was to come. His fingers threaded through hers while their lips moved; he broke the kiss as suddenly as he had initiated it, and tugged her inside, out of the cool November air and into the warm lobby.

Kate slipped her hand from his as he walked them towards the bar, and she dropped down into an expensive-looking chair in the lobby. "I'll wait here," she told him. "Sore feet." She slipped her feet out of the heels to emphasize her words, and flexed her toes. But they weren't sore, not at all. She was underage, and if she knew it so did everyone else in that bar.

He left her there, in the expansive lobby, shoes in her hand, and heart in her throat, silently daring the concierge to question her. But he didn't, he merely eyed her in interest for a moment, before offering a warm smile and returning to his duties._ I don't belong here_, she screamed inside her head. When the screaming died down, when the words stopped reverberating in her skull, she released a soft sigh, expelling it all out, and the silence that remained left her unsure. Maybe she did belong here. Or maybe she simply wasn't the first girl Rick had brought here today.

But she couldn't focus on that.

Rick saved her from her thoughts, returning with a bottle of wine that she was sure cost more than her entire wardrobe. "Rick?" she asked, concerned about the bottle and how much he had shelled out.

He helped her out of the chair, took her shoes from her, and nodded towards the elevator. "It's your birthday," he reminded her. "Everyone deserves to be spoiled on their birthday."

God, he was sweet. Too sweet. She didn't deserve this treatment. She deserved to be dropped at her home and sent up to face her parents. He deserved to know the truth, but then what? The night would end if she opened her mouth - with him escorting her home. It churned in her stomach, a black swirl of deceit, pushing ever higher towards her heart, but if she pushed against it, suppressed it, kept in control, she could win this battle - and keep lying to him.

"Hey, smile," he told her, giving her a bright one as inspiration.

Pushing it all down, she smiled in return. Enough of that wine and maybe she could numb her emotions, her conscious, and enjoy the tangible sensations his hands would soon be inflicting exquisitely upon her skin. "Is this how you treat every stranger on their birthday?" she asked as she followed him into the elevator.

Uncurling one finger from around the straps of her shoes, he pressed the button for the seventh floor, and grinned at her. "No. Just you."

"Why am I so special?"

"I don't know yet, but you are. You're special, and I'm figuring it out."

"You think you can figure me out, huh?" she asked, leaning against the wall of the elevator, raising an eyebrow as a dare.

He chuckled. "I think that might take more time than we have tonight."

She nodded, before pushing away from the wall and pressing her body to his. She grazed his lips with her own, and smiled against them. Kate Beckett the mystery. _No_, she thought,_ she really wasn't_. But she liked the idea. A lot.

* * *

><p>He placed the wine bottle on the round coffee table in the decadent hotel room, and she watched, her eyes fixed on him, watching how his body moved. Watching how his brow furrowed as he concentrated on pouring the sparkling liquid into two glasses. She lowered her eyes, saw his throat ripple as he swallowed, as if nervous under her gaze. Saw that the top two buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing hints of his broad chest underneath.<p>

She wondered when he had done that, wondered if she had, in the limo? Her beer-addled, arousal-laden brain just a little fuzzy. Her memories of the last couple of hours already hazy.

He handed her a glass, and she snapped back, flicking her eyes to the drink now in her hand, before meeting his own eyes again.

"Happy birthday, Kate," he said, clinking his glass against hers.

"You've said that already," Kate reminded him. She sipped the expensive wine, letting it skate across her tongue, flow down and begin to warm her from the inside out. She licked her lower lip, felt the tingle of wine lingering on it, felt herself smiling at how it buzzed, and sparked, and threatened to ignite her.

He swallowed, nodded in appreciation at his glass, and then smiled at her. "I want to remember this night for something more positive than a divorce."

Kate swallowed down a mouthful of the wine, no longer tasting it, only wanting to taste him. She placed her glass down on the sleek coffee table, and reached for him. Her hands framed his face as she pressed her lips to his, the taste of the wine masking the lingering beer. She kissed him thoroughly, lips pressed hard to his, tongues thrusting into hot, open mouths, and colliding.

If her fourteen-year-old self had been aware Maddie would lose her virginity in tenth grade, and be the one telling her - explicitly - what to expect, she might never have shared her own experiences with her, might never have talked her through how to kiss a boy. But Maddie had never before swooped in like she had earlier, had never used that tongue on a boy Kate liked too. Whether she was really over Brent Edwards or not didn't matter. There was a rule - and Maddie had broken it. For all the rules Kate had broken in her life, she never would have kissed Brent in front of Maddie. None of it mattered though, not really. Brent wasn't interested, Maddie had told her. Now she wondered how much truth there had been in those words. She also wondered how many times she would have to tell herself it didn't matter before it actually stopped bothering her.

"Thinking and kissing don't play well together," Rick murmured against her lips.

Kate smiled. "Sorry." She pulled back, and met his eyes. "Maddie," she explained.

"I'm sure the two of you will figure it all out tomorrow, when you go out for coffee to cure the hangovers."

He turned then, placed his wine glass out of harms way, and then curled his hands at her hips and pulled her body flush to his.

"Let me help you forget," and then his lips found hers once more.

A nervous energy swirled around her, it nipped at her flesh, and burrowed under her skin; a swarm of agitated butterflies congregated in her stomach. She couldn't shake it, so she accepted it; she let it flutter around inside her, let it be part of the experience. She was supposed to be nervous, wasn't she? The sweet anticipation of the act, mixing with the pain everyone (_Maddie_) had promised her would accompany this moment.

His large, warm palm cupped her jaw, his thumb stroked her cheek, and he placed a sweet kiss to her lips before pulling back. "There's more to this than just Maddie," he told her.

"Oh, no. It's just been a strange night," she replied, and it was mostly true. "Good strange, I promise."

With his fingers laced in hers, he led her to the large bed, and turned her to face him with his hands on her hips.

"Do you want to forget it all, Kate?"

"More than you could ever know."

With deft fingers, he popped the dome of her jeans, and slid the zipper down. She stood while he eased the denim down her legs and helped her step out of it. She felt a tremble move through her legs, and bounced slightly on the balls of her feet to mask it. _It's fine. It's good. It's what I want; it's what he needs._ His fingertips moved up her inner thigh, skimming her skin, and she spread her legs a little wider, shivering as he trailed ever higher. He knelt between her legs and made contact with her through her panties, the pads of his fingers pressing the silky smooth material against her clit. His face was so close, his lips could so easily replace his fingers, and each breath he exhaled against her only increased her temperature, and added to the dampness pooling between her legs. She sucked in a breath. Held it. Waited.

His finger twitched, and her hips almost bucked, but she managed to keep control of her body, and allowed just a slight spasm to be seen. Teasing her through her panties, she moaned as each sweep of his finger increased in pressure, left her feeling gloriously achy, and wet, and hot. And then, he was tugging her panties down and pressing his lips to her core.

She couldn't suppress the moan as her folds were parted, allowing his tongue easier access. He teased the tip of her clit, before sliding his firm tongue over, and around her, spreading the moisture that had already collected. No guy had ever got her that turned on that fast before. Men - boys, really - had tasted her before, but none had been this skilled, had such a sense of what she needed. Where she needed it. How hard, how fast. How… _Oh_. He teased her entrance with the tip of a finger, before pushing it inside her. His tongue continued to work her clit while his finger slid in and out of her, faster, and harder, and deeper. The pressure built, and the friction increased. She dug her fingers into his shoulders, anchoring herself to him, stealing stability from him. She could feel the tremor rush through her muscles, could feel her legs threatening to give out on her. The coil within her wound tighter, the fire of her arousal burned through her. It was too much, too much, she couldn't-

she broke apart, gasping out his name, shattering around his expert digit and dexterous tongue.

She released her hold on his shoulders, but the lack of contact was brief. "Oh, God," she breathed out, her fingers scraping along his scalp, tugging at his short hair, her shaking legs barely keeping her on her feet.

He stood, and sucked her lower lip between his, and all she could taste was her own muskiness. "Your turn," she whispered. She directed him to the bed, easing his own pants down, boxers and all, before he could sit. Hard, and throbbing, and waiting for her, she licked her lips at the sight of him. He was impressive, at least to her. Her experience was limited to just a handful of sixteen and seventeen-year-old boys, and before her now was... well, considerably more than a handful. She knelt between his legs, and then looked up at him. "Protection," she told him, her tone firm. He gestured to the top drawer beside the bed, and she was able to reach it from her position. She tugged it open, and felt around blindly inside for a condom, all the while forcing her brain to not think about when and why he had placed them in the drawer. Her fingers closed around one and she revealed it, triumphant. She tore open the foil, tossed the empty packet back in the drawer, and then rolled it down the length of him.

Once it was in place, she teased the tip of him through the latex, well aware it wasn't the same for him, but unapologetic about it. One hand cupped his balls, massaging gently, while the other wrapped around the base of him, and held him with a firm, careful, grip. She placed a kiss to the tip, flicked her tongue along it, tasting the latex, before parting her lips and taking him into her mouth. She took him in slowly, testing her limits. His hands clenched at the comforter, but his hips remained steady, and she appreciated his control. If he thrust into her mouth now she might lose her nerve, possibly make some unattractive noises as her gag reflex was tested. She stayed in control as she descended, until his entire length was in her mouth. And then she pulled back, skimming her lips along his length, her tongue swirling the underside, serpentine and confident, pressing firmly into him to be felt through the latex.

"Christ, Kate," he groaned out. "I won't last if you keep that up."

She chuckled around him, the vibrations making his hips buck, but she was ready for him, and didn't even flinch as he slid deeper, to the back of her throat, her lips sliding skillfully along him as she eased back again.

"No," he said, little more than a strangled sound as he choked the word out. "I want to- need- you."

She released him, and tugged her shirt over her head in one swift motion, revealing her bare breasts to him.

"Didn't have time for a bra either I see," he said, his eyes fixed solely on her chest, and her small, round breasts. His hands cupped her, his thumbs sweeping across her hardened nipples.

"Not tonight," Kate replied on a sigh, his thumbs making her feel sensations she never wanted to forget. She prayed she remembered it all in the morning. She couldn't lie, she wanted this tonight, to be rid of this boy repellant, the one thing always so determined to put a damper on an evenings events. He was using her to forget about his divorce - even if only for a few hours - and she was using him in return. It was a deceitful mess of a birthday, but she wanted this. She trusted him (_how that happened she had no clue_). She needed this. Now.

His own shirt was quickly removed, and joined hers in a puddle on the floor. He pulled her down onto the bed, rolled them, and then slipped between her legs. Hard and hot, he slid between her folds, rubbed against her clit, and she shuddered in anticipation beneath him. He massaged her clit with a finger, but his eyes were fixed on her chest. He leaned down, and clamped his soft, wet lips around a nipple. He flicked his tongue across the peak, and then sucked gently, and she released a low moan from the onslaught of sensations. She could feel him everywhere. Between her legs, against her stomach, her breasts, in her veins, and in her heart.

His fingers spread her own dampness around her; the ache of need between her legs became almost too intense as she watched him spread the moisture over himself. She felt the tip of him probe at her entrance, and she held a breath.

Her body went rigid, she couldn't help it, couldn't stop herself from tensing up, and he noticed.

"Hey, relax," he murmured into her shoulder. He met her eyes, and narrowed his own. "What's wrong?" He had paused, rubbing against her entrance, so close to pushing in she could barely stand it.

"I'm-" she fumbled. She lay beneath him, a mess of nerves, terrified of him pulling back the moment she said the words, of this night ending like every other. "I'm not as experienced as most women you've been with," she said carefully.

Hesitation clouded his features, but he held her eyes, searched them for the truth. "Exactly how inexperienced are you?"

She sucked her lower lip between her teeth, and saw the change in his eyes, saw how that simple action had given her away completely. "This is my first time," she admitted.

"Shit."

He went to pull away, but she placed her hands on his ass and kept him in place. "It's okay, I promise. Just be gentle." She wasn't pleading, not yet.

"Kate, I can't." He brushed his lips across hers, an apology, and murmured, "I can't be the one who- I can't."

Kate shook her head. "You men place too much importance on it sometimes," she lamented. "It's a big deal for some girls, I know, but not for me. Taking it won't change me, Rick. I want this. Please."

His breath ghosted across her cheek. "You need to be sure about this," he murmured, desperation in his tone.

"I am," she promised. "It's my birthday; it's what I want." It was low, she knew that, but there was nothing stopping him from letting her down like every other person in her life had done in the past twelve hours.

His lips moved to her ear, skimmed along the sensitive shell, before his voice whispered, "Say stop at any time." He found his way back to her lips, trailing kisses from her ear to the corner of her mouth. He met her eyes once more, and searched them. "At any time, Kate," he told her, his tone subdued but firm.

Kate held his gaze, unwavering in her determination, and she nodded, a silent promise to him, but she knew that word wouldn't be leaving her lips. Not tonight.

* * *

><p>More gently than she could have ever dreamed, he slid into her, inch by inch, allowing her to adjust to him before pushing deeper. She was so wet, so ready, her muscles so relaxed by her orgasm, that it didn't even hurt. It didn't-<p>

_Oh_.

The sudden burn of pain forced her eyes shut, and she clung to him, unmoving for a moment, breathing through it. She didn't look down, didn't want to see the proof of her defiling. The pain burned as he filled her completely, as he broke her, and then it subsided, enough to make it bearable, almost enjoyable. She opened her eyes, held his, smiled at the hesitation she saw in them, and nodded. "Move. Please." She was begging now, desperate to feel him, to feel how her body would respond to him, how she would feel afterwards...

She clutched at his ass as he pulled out, and then slid back in; she guided his movements, and his speed. He moved with slow, easy strokes, still giving her body time to adjust to the foreignness of it all. He was careful with her, moving inside her like a caress, his hands on her skin just as gentle. It still hurt, but it wasn't as bad as she had expected, and the more he moved the more she felt the pleasure begin to tingle; it masked the pain, and spread out in increasingly exquisite waves within her. She hitched her legs up higher, opening herself up wider, until all she could feel was the best kind of pain. She matched his rhythm, moving her hips with his, a little faster, a little harder, learning from him while she encouraged him to let go of whatever control he was clinging to.

"Don't hold back," she told him through little gasps of air. "It's okay, I promise."

Something primal flared in his eyes, and then he was pumping into her, thrusting hard and fast, and the friction caused her back to arch, and her eyes to slam shut. She held onto him, her nails digging into his skin. She met his hips with her own, felt him moving inside her, hitting places she'd never quite reached on her own before. Everything inside her tingled, and sparked, until she felt combustible. She dropped a hand down between them and found her swollen clit. She was so sensitive now that her entire body shuddered as she swept her fingers across herself, desperate for release. With him inside her, and her fingers knowing exactly what she needed, she felt her second orgasm build. It grew quickly, and hit her faster than she had expected. Her muscles contracted around him as she let go, teeth biting into his shoulder, body shuddering against his. He thrust into her, short and sharp, the fluttering of her inner walls seemingly adding to his pleasure, and he was soon collapsing on top of her, his sweat-slicked body covering hers, his cheek pressed to hers. Her muscles still wracked with torturous, tiny spasms, contracted around him, keeping him buried deep within her. Her body refused to let him go.

* * *

><p>She had curled up against him after they'd both cleaned themselves up, discarded the ruined comforter to the floor, and slipped between the sheets. They had left a light burning, a soft glow behind him, neither moving to turn it off, and it must have illuminated her face because he'd been unable to tear his gaze from her, had studied her intensely, and murmured, <em>You have gorgeous eyes<em>. She had turned then, away from him, and the sweetness of the moment, but she had let him hold her in his arms, spooning her. A soft sigh of contentment had slipped from her lips as she'd molded her body back against his. _Ruined now_, she had thought. No other man would ever measure up, no one would ever treat her so well. She could have stayed in his arms forever. But as the night wore on and dawn approached, she had to make her move, she had already been there too long.

She waited, until his body relaxed against hers, and his breathing evened out. She shifted slightly, and smiled at his sleeping face. Brushing a final kiss to his parted lips, she eased out of the bed, back into her clothes, and slipped out the door - in stealth-mode, something she was entirely too good at already.

* * *

><p>She knew she might never see him again, except perhaps on the back cover of one of her mom's books. All blue eyes and smug smile. All charm and confidence. The man she gave it away to. A secret she would keep.<p>

She knew she needed that bike. The Harley, the one she'd been dreaming of - saving for - for three years now. She also knew she needed to apologize to her parents. She just wasn't sure in what order those two things would occur, although she had an inkling she might just get that bike first. She'd ride the bike fast, but she'd slow everything else down. She would be calmer now_. _

She decided, as she walked the New York City streets at six AM, shivering as the icy rain began to fall, that she'd take the time to put on a coat in the future, but, more importantly, she'd start thinking about that future. Richard Castle thought she was special, he saw a spark of something in her that she'd been refusing to see, something she'd been hiding from everyone else.

Kate stopped, opened her eyes, and looked up. She took it all in, the city that surrounded her, the years she had wasted, the opportunities ahead.

It was time to grow up.


	2. Chapter 2

**Part Two: **

**The road is long, the memory slides. **

* * *

><p><strong><em>Flowers for your Grave<em> (filler)**

* * *

><p><em>2009<em>

She watched him from a distance, just taking a minute to let the reality of this moment settle around her before approaching. She had seen him regularly since that night back in '97. She had seen him at a book signing, and on TV. She'd seen him every time she had turned one of his novels over, gazed at the back cover, and allowed the memories to rush over and bury her.

They had spoken only once, however. At the book signing, when she had given him a name, and said little more. For a moment she had thought she'd seen a spark of recognition flare in his eyes, but it had been fleeting.

The memories of that night all threatened to take hold of her again as she stood there, momentarily transfixed by the sight of him. The little red-headed girl in the small photo in his wallet was a teenager now, pushing away a glass of champagne, rolling her eyes at her father. Almost the age Kate had been when she had first met Rick.

_Rick_.

The name swirled inside her mind. He would always be Rick to her. Not Richard Castle, the famous author, but Rick, newly divorced and just looking to forget about it for a few hours.

She still wondered, sometimes - now - if he had.

Suppressing it all, Kate took a step forward, squashing the butterflies and summoning courage. She was Detective Kate Beckett; she could do this.

Pushing forward, through the sea of people, she made her way over to Rick, striding up behind him with a display of confidence she wasn't feeling. She sucked in a breath, steadied her voice, and spoke the first words to him in over a decade.

"Mister Castle?"

He spun around, a haughty smile playing on his lips, pen in hand, oozing that same confidence and smug charm. "Where would you like it?"

Unimpressed, she barely kept herself from rolling her eyes as she held up her badge and replied, "Detective Kate Beckett, NYPD, we need to ask you a few questions about a murder that took place earlier tonight." And as she waited for her words to sink in, and for his eyes to focus, all she could do was silently pray his memories of her and that night were too faded, too forgotten now, and she would be able to get through this evening as a stranger to him.

* * *

><p>"Alison Tisdale. Daughter of real estate mogul Jonathan Tisdale."<p>

"She's cute," Rick replied smoothly.

Beckett didn't miss a beat. "She's dead. D'you ever meet her? Book signing? Charity event?" _Ever take her back to your hotel room and take her virginity? _Her brain screamed at him.

Rick shrugged. "It's possible. She's not in my little black book if that's what you're asking."

_Oh_, a jealous voice inside her head wondered. _Was I?_ Out loud she asked, "What about this guy?" She slid the photo over to him, keeping her hand from wavering. "Marvin Fisk. Small claims lawyer."

"Most of my claims tend to be on the, um, large side."

She rolled her eyes at his innuendo, but his words sent a memory flashing through her mind. A memory of a night spent in his bed, her body writhing beneath his as every inch of him was thrust in and out of her. She trapped her lower lip between her teeth, suppressed the images, tried to dull the phantom buzz of the alcohol, the lingering taste of him on her tongue, the all-too-vivid feeling of him between her legs. The foreign feeling of being stretched, the sharp pain of his first few thrusts, and then the warm throb of pleasure as the pain shifted, from uncomfortable to exquisite. She swallowed thickly and flicked her eyes back to him, but he was oblivious to her current state, his eyes fixed solely on the photo before him.

"So, what's this got to do with me?"

Beckett cleared her throat, composed herself. "Fisk was found murdered in his office two weeks ago. I didn't put it together until we saw the Tisdale crime scene tonight."

She knew he was about to react, and she held a breath and slid another photo his way.

"_Flowers for Your Grave," _Rick noted in surprise.

"And this is how we found Marvin Fisk," she told him, sending yet another photo his way. "Right out of _Hell Hath No Fury_."

"Looks like I have a fan," Rick remarked, a haughty edge to his tone.

"Yeah. A really deranged fan."

"Oh, you don't look deranged to me," he sneered.

Beckett exhaled a quick puff of air, and asked, "What?" Her voice betrayed her, noticeably less steady than she would have liked.

"_Hell Hath No Fury_? Angry Wiccans out for blood? C'mon. Only hardcore Castle groupies read that one."

She was frazzled now, thrown off by his words. _Does he remember_, she wondered. _Does he suspect?_

"Do any of these groupies ever write you letters? Disturbing letters?" Fumbling over the word 'groupies', she mentally chided herself to get it together.

"Oh, all my fan mail's disturbing. It's an occupational hazard."

"Because sometimes, in cases like this, we find that the killer attempts to-"

* * *

><p>Castle interrupted her. "Killer attempts to contact the subject of his obsession. I'm also pretty well-versed in psychopathic methodologies. Another occupational hazard. And do you know you have gorgeous eyes?" The last sentence danced off his tongue, leaving him with a sudden feeling of severe Déjà vu. He sat back in his chair as the tiny pinpricks of some forgotten memory stabbed repeatedly at him, his brain tingling with something he couldn't quite recall. "Whoa, that was weird."<p>

Detective Beckett sat opposite him, eyes fixed on him, clearly unimpressed. "You could have ended that sentence a little differently," she said in a dry tone.

"Ah, sorry." He frowned, and studied her eyes more intensely. Hazel. A little angry. Familiar. He blinked, and searched his memory. _Why. Why so familiar_? "Have we met?" he asked carefully. "Prior to tonight, I mean."

Beckett narrowed her eyes, and then shook her head. "No."

"Are you sure, you are so fam-"

"Mister Castle need I remind you you're the one being questioned here."

"Sorry, sorry, you're right. Detective _Kate_ Beckett, did you say?"

Beckett frowned. "I did."

"Okay, good," he replied. "Good."

"You okay, Rick?"

A strange feeling surged through him; it was all just too familiar, too comfortable. The way she said his name, her eyes, her voice. So many Kates in his past, he quickly went through them all, systematically, in his head. Was she one of them? And, if so, why was this one affecting him so strongly?

"Focus," she snapped, drawing him back before he could remember them all, their faces, their voices, what they had meant to him. "I take it you won't have any objection to us going through your mail."

He wouldn't have any objection to this woman going through anything of his.

* * *

><p><em>Three Days later<em>

She left him; she turned down his offer to go for a drink at the end of the Tisdale case, and walked away from him. She walked away from _Castle_, he wasn't Rick anymore. Adding an extra sway to her hips, and putting distance between them, she left him unaware she had already been one of his conquests, and unaware he had already been one of hers - her first.

* * *

><p><strong><em>A Chill goes through her Veins <em>(Post-ep)**

* * *

><p>With Beckett's story in his head, and a heaviness in his heart, Castle took the file from Esposito, and gave the man his word. This was a secret they shared now.<p>

Alone, the only sounds the footsteps of the retreating detective, disappearing in the distance, Castle laid the folder out on the desk before him, beneath the brightly burning light, and took in the name.

_Johanna Beckett_.

He read it again, noted the spelling. He lifted his eyes from the paper, mulled over it, and felt a sudden, sharp tug at his heart.

It sparked a memory, from - _Oh, eight or so years ago now?_ he guessed. Of a young woman at a book signing. Of a ghost from his past. He hadn't seen her in the line until she had been standing in front of him, dressed in jeans and a simple white shirt, clad in sneakers, hair pulled back in a messy braid. Her face was older, thinner, her features sharper than he remembered; her voice was altered by her journey through life, and her eyes were lined in the corners and sadder - but he could have sworn it was Kate. His Kate. The only Kate who'd ever really mattered. The one he had met at a random party he hadn't been invited to, the one who'd just turned twenty and been ditched by her so-called best friend. The one who had followed him back to his hotel room. The one he had- well, he tried not to focus on that part. Just the pieces he was proud of. Like meeting her. Dumbstruck, he'd managed to choke out the question, the one he almost rattled off robotically: _Who should I make it out to_?

"Johanna," the woman had replied. "J-O-H-A-N-N-A," she had spelled it out for him.

"That's a gorgeous spelling," he had told her, still confused as to why she hadn't said _Kate_. But, he knew - _thought he knew_ - why she hadn't. She wasn't his Kate, just a look-alike, not impossible in this bustling city of millions.

She had thanked him, and turned to walk away. He had taken a chance then, sucked in a breath, called out, "Kate?" But she hadn't even slowed, hadn't shown any indication of it being her real name. She'd just walked off, out of the store, and out of his life.

And he'd just accepted it.

He gazed down now at the smiling face of Johanna Beckett, and committed it to memory. Once he opened the file he knew what he would find: detailed descriptions, autopsy reports, and crime scene photos. Was this the mother a twenty-year-old woman on a cold New York City step on Frat Row had spoken of? Was Beckett his _Kate_? Did she not remember? Or not want to?

Or did he have it all wrong?

Kate Beckett had looked him in the eye and told him they'd never met prior to her hauling him out of his book launch.

But now... well, now he wasn't so sure anymore.

Of _anything_.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Deep in Death <em>(filler)**

* * *

><p>He was possibly about to die. Possibly. He'd been in worse situations than this, gun pointed at his liver, desperately trying to talk his way out of it, most likely failing - although he wasn't prepared to admit to that defeat just yet.<p>

And then she walked in. Beckett. Or a version of her, at least. Not one he had ever seen before. Or was likely to see again. If he even survived this.

He was certain - _somewhat_ - that she must have spent time in Russia at some point in her life.

Before college? After? At all? Maybe she just watched a lot of Bond films.

There was no point asking her - if he survived this. One thing he knew for sure, one thing he had swiftly learned, was that with Kate Beckett came walls. High, thick, brick walls. Walls between them, walls between him and her mom's case, walls between 2009 and 1997 (he was certain - _mostly certain_ - that he had once met a younger version of this strong woman on a cold November evening). He had spent the last six months chipping away, coaxing the memories out of her, by asking every question except: _Did I take your virginity in a hotel room in the Nineties_?

Slap him, shoot him, haul his bleeding, battered body into the morgue for Lanie to finish him off. Yeah, that would be his demise should he ever gather the courage to ask her so directly.

When a brick came loose, if an opening was revealed, he had tried dropping vague hints, but she swerved to avoid them. He had tried throwing memories at her of things he shouldn't know, but she ducked, and dived, and dodged them all. And the walls went back up, and anything possibly between them prior to 2009 was hidden. Ignored. Forgotten.

But he wouldn't give up.

Even if she wasn't talking to him, he would still dig, still scratch, and claw, and fumble around for evidence of a shared night. A history.

Even if she was... dressed in next to nothing, bending a suspect over a bench, her red panties on display, and that damn sexy Russian accent leaving her glossy lips. He wanted to...

He was officially an ass because all he wanted to do was touch.. well... her ass.

Wait... What was he supposed to be doing?

Ass...

"Castle, could you get some backup please," she growled at him.

Oh. Right. "Yeah... Yeah."

* * *

><p>Later, he would sober up. He would thank her for saving his life, and then find himself unraveling again. But from her words this time. Words that she'd clearly been holding in since their first meeting. Words that meant so much more, went so much deeper, than the event she had attached them to in the precinct.<p>

_"You dredged up my past for you, Castle, not for me. And you're too selfish to even see it."_

He would respect her. He had to. He would give her the time she needed to be the one to open up to him. But in the meantime, while he waited, he would keep digging, he would gather all that evidence.

In case her need for time stretched beyond the limits of his patience.

And when his daughter's words (_Why can't they just say they're sorry?_) illuminated his stupidity, and he returned to the precinct to find his muse still at her desk, his overdue apology was for so much more than her mom's case.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Sucker Punch (<em>post-ep_)_**

* * *

><p>She felt his eyes on her as he reached for a container of food, as he changed his mind, put it back, and reached for another. She caught his gaze flick her way, when his lips were clamped around chopsticks, and he thought she wasn't looking.<p>

It scared her a little, sometimes. How well he could read her, his knack for knowing exactly what she needed. Sometimes it was space, sometimes it was his words, and sometimes it was food.

Tonight, it was food. His company. Light conversation.

Thirteen years ago it was something entirely different.

The memories caught her off-guard, and she thought back to how young she had been. How untouchable she thought she was; so naive. Those years before her mom's death seemed so long ago now, and so recent at the same time. They seemed so innocent, despite her rebellious streak. She had found herself on lonely nights, more often than she'd like to admit, remembering that November evening. He'd been pulling her pigtails since she was just a few years past wearing them.

So young. God, she had been so young.

Whether he remembered or not, she hadn't quite decided. He seemed aware of a prior meeting; she had seen the shift in his features on more than one occasion, had seen remembrance of _something _flare in his eyes. A shift, a flare, that always followed by a vague question about her past. But he had never asked outright, and she would never tell him. It was easier that way. For her.

"You gonna eat that?"

His voice snapped her back, and she glanced down at the container of Chinese in her hand, and the chopsticks swirling around the noodles within. "Um," she looked up at him. "You know, I think I'm full. They're all yours." She removed her chopsticks and passed him the box.

She watched as he took the food, placed the container on the table in front of him, and then inhaled a breath. "Listen, if you want to be alone, that's okay-"

"No," she interrupted him gently. "I need this, thank you."

She always needed this, this softer, quieter, calmer side of him. The more serious Castle, the one she had met all those years ago. The one who listened, and gave her exactly what she needed. The one with a three year old daughter, and just one ex-wife. Back when she still had her mom.

She sat and watched as he smiled at her words and dug into the noodles. She smiled back, and then shifted her gaze and swept her eyes around the bullpen, this place where she had come so close to closing her mom's case, the closest yet. But she pushed it all down now, and thought instead of _that_ night, shared with Castle, before her mom's death, before the world changed her and the protective shield was wrapped around her heart.

Back when she first lied to him.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Food to Die for <em>(Filler)**

* * *

><p>"Madison, right?" Castle asked, quietly sidling up to her after Beckett had walked off with the emergency contact information for Wolf.<p>

Maddie nodded, her lips turned up in an intrigued smile. "Correct."

"Mind if I ask you a couple of quick questions?"

"About?" But clarity lit up her eyes, and she laughed softly. "Oh, wait, let me guess. About Becks?" Maddie glanced over at the back of Beckett's head, the detective currently distracted by a phone conversation, and leaned into Castle. He leaned into her, a little too confidently. In a hushed tone she said, "Her secrets are safe with me."

Castle leaned back, and exhaled a puff of frustrated air. "Okay, fine. I get it. Just, answer one thing for me?"

"Maybe," Maddie replied. "Better make it good."

"Did you and Beckett ever attend a college party?"

"Oh my God," Maddie replied, barely suppressing her smile. "We attended _many_."

"This one would have been in 1997, Beckett's twentieth birthday."

"Uh," Maddie frowned. "The only one that coincided with her birthday was on her eighteenth. That was '97. Why do you ask?"

"Eighteen?" he asked, perplexed. "You're sure? Beckett's birthday is in November, right?"

"Yeah," Maddie replied confidently. "November seventeenth. And _that_ night, well, there were consequences, so I remember it well."

"Okay," Castle replied slowly. "Thank you."

"You're welcome? I think."

"C'mon, Castle," Beckett's voice called to him. He nodded to Maddie, and then hurried to catch up with Beckett, still processing the information.

"You okay, Castle?" Beckett asked when he'd caught up. "You look weird," she told him, narrowing her eyes as she took in his strained features.

"Fine," he lied. "Just trying to make sense of something."

"About the case?"

"No. Something else."

"Feel like sharing?" she asked.

"Not right now."

Beckett watched him in concern for a moment, and then shrugged. "Okay then," she said simply, before walking off, her mind clearly already back on the case.

His was anywhere but.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Under the Gun <em>(filler)**

* * *

><p>"You were a girl once," Castle began casually, sitting at her desk, studying his phone.<p>

Kate smirked. "Still am," she reminded him.

"Can you tell me why my daughter wants one of these so bad?" he asked, holding up his phone to show her the photo of Alexis on a motorcycle, smiling and waving at the camera.

"Well bikes are what girls want when we realize we're never going to get a pony," she supplied, meeting his eyes.

He held her eyes, his features serious, interested but concerned. "Did you have one?"

"I still do," she replied proudly. "'94 Harley Softail. Worked all of high school to pay for it."

"And how did you parents feel about it?"

"Well my dad threatened to send me to a nunnery," she told him. _Because I'd lost my virginity three days prior to bringing the bike home._ "And my mom just shook her head and said, 'Katie, every time you ride that thing just remember how much you hate hearing me tell you I told you so'." She smiled at the memory, despite the pain that still lingered. The pain she'd caused her parents, the hurtful things she had said. It was only right of her to warn Castle, but she kept the mood as light as she could. "You know what this means though, don't you?"

"No, what?"

"Well Alexis is entering her wild child phase."

"My daughter? I don't think so."

"Oh yeah, Castle, all girls go through it. And good girls are _the worst_. In fact I remember this one time when- " Saved by Ryan, not that she was really going to confess that particular evening to him. Not now, not while he was still so blissfully ignorant of it (or so she told herself). And certainly not with Alexis being so close to that age. So close. He'd never let his daughter out of his sight again if she brought up _that_ evening. As Ryan talked, her eyes flicked to Castle, and, for a fraction of a second, she thought she saw it: remembrance; realization; regret. But it passed as quickly as it had appeared, and she returned her attention to Ryan. But it lingered inside her, the memory of that night, everything that had led up to it, and the days that followed. The more time she spent with Castle the more it ate away at her. Most days she could push it down, ignore the darkness eating her from the inside out, the lie she had told him, the truth she kept from him still (kept from everyone, just as she had promised herself). But there were moments, like this one, when she just wanted to open her mouth - let him into her heart - and let it all spill out.

_Tomorrow_, she would tell herself. _Next week. Next year. Never._

Never was probably for the best.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Knockdown <em>(filler/postep)**

* * *

><p>Three punches. One for Esposito. One for Ryan. One for Kate.<p>

He had stopped there but... He could have easily killed Lockwood.

He still felt the rage, in the form of excruciating pain, pulsating through his fingers, his wrist, up his entire arm - to his heart.

Even with the bag of frozen peas draped over his bandaged knuckles he still felt the throbbing pain in his hand.

Beckett had taken him home, followed him through his front door, and had rifled through his freezer while commanding him to the couch. Then, with that same tender touch from inside the ambulance, she had carefully placed the frozen bag of peas across his hand, and given him a sad, half smile.

"You gonna be okay, Castle?"

She stood in front of where he sat on the couch, bent slightly at her waist, watching him.

"Need something for the pain?"

He flexed his fingers, and the peas shifted inside but the bag stayed put. "No, I'm good."

"Okay." She straightened, drew herself to full height again and gave him a softer smile. "I meant it," she told him. "Thank you for everything these past few days."

"Partners," he reminded her. Just one word.

"Yeah," she agreed, expelling the word on a soft puff of air. But there was a warmth in her eyes, and acceptance in her smile.

He found himself desperately wanting her to stay. Just a little longer. Dinner, maybe a movie. Two friends unwinding, debriefing...

_Friends_. He stopped his thoughts from going to other places, and repeated that one word in his head._ Friends_. Friends who now kiss? _No_, he reminded himself. _It was a one time thing. A ruse. She has Josh now. You lost._

He lost her. He waited too long, and lost her to Demming; he found himself in Gina's arms once more, and then there was Josh, and it was all just a never-ending loop of bad-timing, cowardly behavior, and significant others. And they were both guilty of it. He had seen it, in her eyes, when her lips were pressed to his. He saw the remembrance, the flashbulb memory as it consumed her. It had consumed him too.

_Friends_.

Despite the frustrations, it warmed him to know they had found their way to that point, that they were friends, that they had found themselves in a comfortable relationship. And then the pain set in again, the ache of what had been and what could be. What would never be again? It wasn't just his hand that smarted anymore. It was knowing how young she had been, it was knowing he was the one who had-

Where would they be now had they acknowledged it during that reunion, two years ago?

He fought against it every day, and kept it inside for another day.

"I should go," she said, pulling him from his thoughts, standing in front of him just a little awkwardly, her body language just a little uncomfortable.

He nodded. "Thanks for the peas."

"It's the least I could do." She nodded, a small dip of her chin. Her lips turned up in the corners, and her eyes showed her gratitude.

He desperately wanted to ask her to stay. Instead, he sat on his couch, bag of frozen peas on his hand, watching her walk away. Watching her slip away, back to another man.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Set-upCountdown _(filler)**

* * *

><p>She slid down to the cold floor, felt the ice beneath her, behind her. The only warmth she felt was from his body as he joined her on the ground, as he pushed his side against hers, wrapped an arm around her shoulder, and tugged her body a little closer to his own. He didn't say a word, just held her, stole her warmth while he gave her his.<p>

She didn't think she had ever been this cold before. Or felt this helpless. It might be the closest to death she had ever come, and she knew she would get closer still, knew she might not win the next round.

But they weren't dead yet, and there was hope. There was always hope. She refused to give up.

She wouldn't let him give up either. They were in this together, and dammit when they were rescued he'd be walking out of this container with her. Her body pressed more firmly against his as she thought of escape, and her knees pressed into the side of his thigh.

"Put your knees on my thighs, Beckett." His voice sounded weary, battle-worn and fading. There was a slight stutter in the sentence as he pushed the words out through frozen lips.

Kate didn't question it. She eased her knees up, shifted her thighs, until her legs were resting on his lap, and twisted her body into his just a little more. She turned her head away, though, removing intimacy with distance.

She didn't speak. Her lips hurt when she opened her mouth, her lungs burned from the cold, and she just wanted to sit, stay very still, steal his warmth, and ignore the pain.

* * *

><p>Everything around her had slowed down. Her limbs felt heavy, foreign, cold. So cold. But the pain had diminished, it didn't hurt anymore. She was too numb to feel the pain. And she was alone now, she was sure of it. She could no longer feel his body against hers, or under it.<p>

He had left her.

"Castle?"

_He had left her._

"Are you there?"

"Yeah, I'm right- I'm right here."

His voice sounded distant. She couldn't feel him-

"I can't feel anything." The words left her mouth, her brain a little fuzzy, her thoughts a little slower, but what passed at a snails pace through her flowed easily out of her chafed lips. "I always thought, being a cop, I'd take a bullet. Never thought I'd freeze to death." Maybe she'd laugh about it later. Maybe not.

"Hey, we're not dead yet."

She couldn't decide if his speech was slurred, or if her brain was registering his words at a slow, stilted, pace. If he had a laptop, he wouldn't need to speak. He could write their way out of this, and it would flow quickly, unhindered, his words pushing them along to freedom. "I just wish this was one of your books and you could re-write the ending."

"I'm sorry."

She heard his words, but they made no sense. "For what?"

"For being me. Going rogue. Getting you into- this. If we hadn't gone- rogue-"

Stupid, sweet, man. "Oh, shh. Castle, no. Okay? Shhh. You were right. We found the bomb. We were just too late, okay?" She turned into him, her movements so slow nothing felt like it belonged to her. Her torso, her arms, so cold now she could barely twist, barely lift. She curled her body into his, studied the features of this man who had been there for her, so many more times than he would ever know. "Castle. Thank you...for being there."

"Always."

If his face would be the last thing she would ever see, if his voice would be the last sound she would ever hear, if the reverse was his own fate, she needed to tell him one final thing: she had fallen in love with him.

"I just want you to know how much I-"

* * *

><p><strong><em>Knockout<em>**

* * *

><p>Esposito pulled him back, while Lanie hurried in, pressed a hand to the bullet wound on Kate's chest, desperately checking her best friend's vitals with her other hand, trying to keep her blood from flowing out, staining the grass.<p>

Castle almost choked as he tried to suck in a breath, fighting against Esposito's strong arms, not wanting to be separated from Beckett.

Kate.

His partner; his friend; the woman he was in love with. His _everything_.

It had quietly, calmly, caught up with him; this lingering lust from over a decade ago had spent the last two and a bit years slowly engulfing his heart - until he was undeniably _in love_ with her.

And now, she was dying. Bleeding out on the grass at Montgomery's funeral.

Desperately being worked on by frantic hands.

Loaded into an ambulance so full of people trying to save her he couldn't squeeze in.

An ambulance now fading into the distance.

He was losing her.

Their story couldn't end like that. If he saw her again - _when_, he tried to correct as he blindly followed Esposito to his car - if they were given another chance, he wouldn't be so stupid, so cowardly. He wouldn't let her silence dominate. He didn't give a damn about Josh anymore. If she lived, the talk was inevitable.

If she lived...

* * *

><p><strong><em>Always<em>**

* * *

><p>"I was just trying to keep you safe."<p>

They stood in her apartment, facing one another, defensive and on edge. The air was palpable, swirling around them in a tempest of wild emotions, and word by word the truth was being revealed, all he had kept from her escaping his lips.

"By lying to me about the most important thing in my life?" Kate asked, emotion thick in her voice, losing the battle to keep it stable as the tears pricked at her eyes.

"That lie was the only thing that was protecting you," he told her in a slow, measured tone.

"Castle," she breathed out in pain, fully aware of how she had done the exact same thing to him. How she had lied to protect him. From her. "I didn't need protection I needed a lead, and you sat on it for a year."

The more questions she asked, the more it hurt. The more he revealed, the more she wondered why. Why had he done this to her?

"How the hell could you do this?" she spat out in frustration, anger, and betrayal.

"Because I love you," he told her, his own emotion cracking his voice, and shining in his eyes. "But you already know that, don't you. You've known for about a year." His vision clouded, blurred. "Or maybe you've known for longer than that, Kate."

She blinked rapidly, trying to make sense of his words.

"Maybe, because of our history, you feel it too."

"Our history?" she asked, spine still stiff, hands still planted on her hips.

"Yes, Kate, _our history_," he spat out. "1997. It was a long time ago, I accept that, but surely you remember a night in a hotel room with an author. With _me_." No subtext, no talking around the issues. In plain words, as it had been.

"Oh," she breathed the word out; her hands slipped from her hips, and she felt her entire body deflate. "You remembered me?"

"I wasn't sure at first, that the Kate that night had been you, but I never forgot what happened, what we did," he told her fiercely. "How could I forget that night?"

"I-"

He didn't let her get any further. "How old were you, Kate?" he asked her, eyes boring into her. "Twenty-one? Twenty? _Eighteen_?"

She swallowed thickly, her shoulders dropped and she cast her eyes to the floor.

"Maybe just seventeen when we first exchanged words," he growled. "Birthday girl, if I recall correctly."

"You do," she said. "You recall correctly." She lifted her gaze and met his eyes. "You never said anything." She shook her head sadly, a little at herself, a little at him.

"Honestly?" he asked. "I didn't _want_ to believe it was true."

Her eyes strung with the tears she was holding back. "A mistake, was it?" she asked, bitterness filling her. Suddenly, she was seventeen again, incapable of making wise decisions, always wrong. Little Katie, so headstrong and unworldly. So stubborn and so hopelessly ignorant. "Well, Castle, tonight you've told me how you cut a deal for my life, like I was some kind of child. I'm not seventeen anymore, Castle. This is my life, my decisions."

He couldn't push the anger down, but he ignored the word mistake, and tried to focus once more on keeping her away from the men determined to kill her. "They're going to come for you, Kate."

"Let them come," she threatened. "They sent Coonan, and he is dead. They sent Lockwood, and he is dead. And I am still here, Castle, and I am ready."

"Ready for what?" he asked in disbelief. "To die for your cause? This isn't a murder investigation anymore, Kate, they've turned it into a war."

"If they want a war then I will bring them a war," she said, her voice low, full of the menace she felt for these people who wanted her dead. "Straight to their doorstep."

He was losing, he couldn't change her mind. And he couldn't watch the fallout. "Well I guess there's just nothing I can say, is there? Okay, um, yeah. You're right, Kate. It's your life. Throw it away if you want but I'm not gonna stick around and watch it so this is over. You've been in my life since '97, breezing in like that night just meant nothing to you, and always leaving so easily. You sneak out, you walk away, you leave me. Well, it's my turn now," he told her. "I'm done."

* * *

><p>Time passed, her life almost ended, and a decision had been made.<p>

Tears streamed down her face, mixing with the rain water as it dripped from her hair. She stood before him, in his loft, a mess of emotions, desperately aware of how much her life needed him in it, of how much she needed _him_. "I'm so sorry, Castle." With her forehead pressed to his, their lips almost brushing, she pleaded with him, to forgive her, to understand _why_. To understand her. And he did, _he had to_, because no one had ever deciphered her like he had. No one had ever broken down the walls and solved the mystery of Kate Beckett quite like he had managed to. "I'm so sorry."

"What happened?" No matter how much she frustrated him, he still needed the answers, still needed new pieces to complete the puzzle, still needed _her_.

"He got away, and I didn't care," she told him. "I almost died, and all I could think about was you. I just want you."

"You had me," he reminded her. "Fifteen years ago. And then you walked away and I never heard from you again. And when we reconnected, it was like it never happened."

"You regret it, remember," she told him, eyes downcast, breathing the words against his lips. "A mistake."

"No, Kate," he said, his tone a little gentler now. He placed his hands on her shoulders and stepped her back so he could see her. He waited until she had lifted her gaze, tears still trailing down her cheeks, before explaining, "I don't regret it, nor do I think it was a mistake, but that night, that was your first time. It shouldn't have been with me. I was too young and stupid to see that myself, too enraptured by you to resist. That night, it should have been with-"

"Didn't we have this very conversation that evening?" she interrupted. Her own voice softening, she said, "I'm _glad_ it was you, Castle. I can't imagine sharing that moment with anyone else."

"Don't say things like that, Kate. Don't," he told her.

"I was determined that night," she continued, "determined some massive change needed to happen. I was on a destructive path, and I knew it. I needed someone to stop me, and you were that person."

"I don't understand," he confessed.

Tears continued to stream down her face as she poured her heart out to him. "You helped me alter my path that night, Castle. For the better. I still went against my parents wishes, but we began to heal." She inhaled a broken sob as she recalled the following days, revealed them to him. "There's nothing quite like slumping down on the sidewalk beside your bike, a mess at your father's feet, spilling your deepest secrets, to bring a father and daughter closer together. There's nothing like falling apart in your mother's arms, sobbing out endless apologies, to almost make up for words spoken in anger."

"Because we slept together?" he asked, his voice hushed.

"No," she sniffed. "Because of all the pain I'd put my parents through, all the tension I'd created. I did tell my father I'd had sex that night, but not who- I never told anyone your name. But I didn't regret what we did, Castle. Not for a second." She leaned in to him, and brushed the tip of her nose against his. "That night with you, I think it saved me."

"You came to my book signing," he forced out, his voice hoarse. "You asked me to make it out to Johanna. Why?"

Kate brushed her lips across his, his still unresponsive, before murmuring, "My mom loved your books, Castle, so I did know who you were that night. After my mom died, I picked up one of your novels and read it for myself. It made me feel closer to her. When you signed that book, it was for her."

"I called out to you," he forced out.

"I wasn't ready."

"It took fifteen years?"

"I needed to grow up. You needed to help me with a wall."

His face softened. "I'm still angry," he told her.

"I know," she breathed against his lips.

"But I still love you," he admitted. "Maybe more."

Her breath caught, and she hiccuped out a sob. She pressed her body harder to his, and whispered against his lips, "Then _love_ me, Castle," before capturing his lips with hers.

They became a mess of hands, of tongues, of lips. Touching and tasting one another, skin burning with reminders of that night. Older now, both carrying new scars, a little damaged, they learned as they explored. His breath hitched as his eyes fell upon her scar, but it was fleeting, before his lips covered it, soothed it.

"I was wrong that night, in that hotel room," he told her, his breathless voice slightly muffled by her skin. "You're not only special, you're extraordinary. And the mess we've made of these past few years doesn't matter anymore."

"What does matter?" she asked, raking her fingers through his hair as he explored her body.

"Right now." He kissed a trail down her stomach. "And our future." His lips tasted her hips; his hands tugged her jeans down, and he placed hot open-mouthed kisses to every inch of exposed skin. "Together."

* * *

><p><em> <strong>Had this been a Summer Hiatus fic it would have been a completely different, fleshed out, fic. But it was a Winter Hiatus one, and this is where it ends. Thank you for reading. <strong> _


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